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Updated: May 7, 2025
He didn't want the Cresta bun, and he thought that he resented Miss Marley's invitation; but, on the other hand, he was intensely glad she was going off and leaving him alone. He felt uncommonly queer. Perhaps he could think of some excuse to avoid the tea when she came back. All the muscles of his chest seemed to have gone wrong; it hurt him to breathe.
No one was allowed to ride the Cresta without practice, and it was a part of Winn's plan not to be bothered with gradual stages. Only one man had ever been known to start riding the Cresta from Church Leap without previous trials, and his evidence was unobtainable as he was unfortunately killed during the experiment.
When Miss Marley came back, he had the eyes of a creature caught in a trap. She took him to Cresta to tea, and it did not occur to Winn to wonder why a woman who at forty-five habitually rode the Cresta should find it necessary to walk at the pace of a deliberating snail. It was a pace which at the moment suited Winn precisely. On the whole he enjoyed his tea.
Still, Winn did not misunderstand her. Of course she meant nothing. "Well," he said, holding out his hand, "I'm extremely glad, Miss Rivers, to have run across you like this, because I'm off this afternoon to St. Moritz. I want to have a look at the Cresta." Claire ignored his outstretched hand. "Oh," she cried a little breathlessly, "you're not going away, are you?
His private opinion was that ladies of any age should not ride the Cresta, and that ladies old enough to have known his father at Hong-Kong should not toboggan at all. It was unsuitable, and she might have hurt herself; into these two pitfalls women should never fall. Miss Marley had a singularly beautiful speaking voice; it was as soft as velvet.
Half an hour later he turned from the highway into a foot-path which led through green pastures and forests of larch-trees. By the time he had reached the heart of the valley it was nightfall. He traversed the hamlet of Cresta, crossed a bridge, found himself at the entrance of the village of Cellarina, about twenty-five minutes' walk form Saint Moritz.
Always I used to funk at the top of the Cresta run. I suffered sometimes almost intolerably; I found it almost impossible to get away. The first ten yards was like being slashed open with a sharp sword. But afterwards there was nothing but joyful thrills. All instinct, too, fought against me when I tried high diving. I managed it, and began to like it.
I think it is due to me to tell you that I shouldn't have come to you for orders if I had intended at the time to shirk them. You're quite right about the tobogganing: I had a go at the Cresta. I know it shook me up a bit, but I didn't spill. Perhaps something went wrong then." "And why, may I ask, did you do it?" Dr. Gurnet asked ironically.
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